More Than a Monster, More Than a Man
by TuesdayGirl
Summary: Buffy turns to Spike after her mother's death for comfort, compassion, and dare Spike dream it...love!


Title: More Than A Monster  
  
Author: TuesdayGirl  
  
Date: June 5, 2002  
  
Summary: Buffy turns to Spike for comfort and compassion. And dare he think it…love.  
  
Spoilers: The Body  
  
Notes:  
  
Want to cry? Play Full of Grace or I Do What You Have to Do? by Sarah McLachlan in the background.  
  
Also, tomorrow I return to my regularly scheduled programming( the other story I'm writing) I just started writing this and couldn't stop.  
  
Also, please don't shun me for how bad it is, it only took me fifteen minutes to write.  
  
  
  
She comes in, kicking down the door and walking swiftly into my crypt. I never know what to expect. I love that and hate that about her. She's a mystery. But as most mystery's go, she's sensitive. One wrong word and she's pummeling me into the floor. One right word and her lips are upon mine. Kissing me with all the force, and love, and tenderness she possesses.  
  
But not today. Today her eyes are red and glazed over. I can see the tears that have marred her honey colored skin. Today she's crying, and I swear, it s a sin for a creature like her to be allowed to experience pain.  
  
But when she cries I hold her, and she comes over to me and wraps her arms around me, and I breathe in the scent of her long blonde hair. But today it's different. She storms in, just like always, and I can see her tears, but she doesn't let me hold her. I make a move to touch her and she backs away. When she finally meets my eyes, they shine with anger and loathing, betrayal and hatred. Sure, I've seen hatred before. I've seen her so angry that she's been ready to stake me. But this is different. This is a hatred rooted in love.  
  
"I've forgotten." She says, looking strait into my deep eyes, studying them for a moment, trying to decide what color they are. She doesn't tell me this is what she's doing. I just know. I always know.  
  
"What have you forgotten love?" I ask in a whisper, hoping that keeping my voice low will keep her near me.  
  
"How she smells." Buffy says. At my confused glance she continues. "How my mother smells. I know it was distinctive, special. I know that I loved it…" She pauses and I understand. She knows that I remember how her mother smells. She knows I'm a vampire, a soulless demon, she reminds me of it every chance she gets. She knows that I can still smell that scent. That mix of berries and cocoa that her mother always seemed to have on her. I don't speak, there's nothing I can say to make her pain lessen.  
  
"Why can't I remember?" The slayer nearly screams. I watch as tears flow freely from her eyes and see her legs shake slightly. And then I'm beside her, my strong arms around her waist, holding her up. I guide her to the couch.  
  
The couch isn't good enough for her. It's old, and when we sit on it dust fly's up from it. But it's a couch, and it's better than sitting on a coffin. So we sit on the couch, and she curls up in my lap and we don't speak for a while, until I break the silence.  
  
"She smelled like berries. Berries, and vanilla and cocoa. Like a mixture of you and Dawn. But then she had her own scent. The cocoa. It was strictly her. It smelled like everything a mother should. Like love and friendship, concern and caring. She smelled perfect."  
  
I keep talking, hoping that my soothing words will put her to sleep. She hasn't slept well. It's understandable, but it doesn't make me worry for her less. And I look down and am happy to see her breathing is steady, and her eyes are closed in what is, for the moment, a peaceful slumber. And little feminine sounds come from her slightly parted pale pink lips. And she looks perfect. I kiss her forehead and stand up, resting her head on a dusty pillow and covering her with my leather duster.  
  
I know that she'll wake up soon. And she'll look at me, a mixture of emotion in her eyes. Thankfulness for caring enough to hold her, and anger, for remembering how her mother smells when she can no longer recall the scent. And she'll remind me that I'm a vampire, and I'll smile at her and remind her that she's a saint. And then we'll part. And a few days later she'll come stomping in again, rushing into my arms for kisses and compassion, a place to wipe her tears, and a place to feel loved. And that's fine with me, because shining beneath her eyes, eyes that hold so much emotion and power. Shining under them is love. And someday, when the burden of death and despair is lifted she'll be ready. And she'll rush into my arms and kiss me, and I'll tell her I'm a vampire, and she'll tell me I'm a saint. 


End file.
